Lollapalooza Day 2: Rain, retro and Eminem

Day 2 of Lollapalooza in Grant Park has crossed the finish line. Here’s an hour-by-hour account with reporting from yours truly (GK) and the ever-vigilant Bob Gendron (BG):

11:44 a.m.: Want to go to Lollapalooza without having to buy tickets? Become a volunteer. Adam Hennan, in his fourth year of helping with recycling, works a four-hour shift and gets the rest of the day to roam. He says that veteran volunteers get the choice of better time slots but that opportunities are also handed out on a first-come basis. Hennan is also proud that, for the first time in its history, Lollapalooza has extended its composting program to the general public. Previously, it was just used for performing artists. Rather than merely giving lip service to the "green" concept, the festival seems to be getting serious about it. People like Hennan (a self-described "compost Nazi") stand around bins all day to ensure concertgoers put their trash in the right bins. It's one reason why, this morning, the clean park doesn't look as if more than 90,000 people passed through last night. (BG)

12:14 p.m.: Goodness gracious, great balls of fire. J. Roddy feverishly pounds the piano keys, summoning the spirits of Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnnie Johnson and other early rock n' roll pioneers schooled in gospel. Wearing a flannel shirt, blue jeans and sunglasses, the singer, with long curly locks and a perpetually kicking right leg, resembles the spawn of Mott the Hoople. His stool threatens to tip over on more than one occasion, as gravity remains the only force holding him down. Sacred church music he absorbed and played as a kid comes through in every note he strikes. Meanwhile, his ‘60s styled band delivers raucous, Southern-steeped boogie and two-fisted R&B that pass through Nashville, Memphis and Carolina coastal towns. Songs are loose, normally uptempo and cut with colloquial accents. Before finishing, the quartet tears the seams off a cover of Little Richard's "Lucille," Roddy's throaty voice and hiccuping accents running off the rails with gusto. "I was pretty sure it would be worth it but you didn't know," he wisecracks, thanking the crowd for arriving early. "You made a good decision." (BG)

12:43 p.m.: Backstage, Walston hasn't yet caught his breath. His only disappointment is that the group played a headlining set on Friday night and didn't get to bed until 4 a.m. Everyone arrived at the festival at 9 a.m. Not that the quick turnaround changed the foursome's approach. "If one guy paid, he should get the dame show as if 1000 people paid. We do it as much for ourselves as everyone else out there," he says, admitting that the group has experienced what it's like to perform in front of an audience of two fans. "We've been loving what we do since day one. We have to. After four years, we've just started to get paid in the last few months." (BG)

12:55 p.m.: “Check it out, we brought the clouds,” says Disappears singer-guitarist Brian Case. The Chicago quartet’s music does indeed feel like the voice of doom descending from on high. Jonathan Van Herik’s bass and Steve Shelley’s drums cruise down the Autobahn built by German art-rockers Neu, propelling the music forward with hypnotic fervor (and yes, it’s that Steve Shelley – on temporary leave from Sonic Youth). The guitars of Case and Damon Carruesco swim in reverb, playing patterns that surge and decay. When two members of White/Light augment the quartet with lap slide-guitar and electronics, the sound gets even bigger, more menacing. When the set’s over, it starts to rain. Perfect. (GK)

1:21 p.m.: Let the other rock duos rely on gimmickry and frills. An Horse is getting by just fine with simplicity and solid songwriting, thank you. If the combo claims any unusual trait, it's singer Kate Cooper's Australian accent. Otherwise, she and percussionist Damon Cox stick to the basics, maximizing the potential of a guitar and stripped-down drum kit without overdoing volume, power or distortion. Cox uses mallets and a tambourine to augment his backdrops. The tandem prefers to sing and tackle rhythms via a choreographed manner during which everything happens simultaneously. When a certain part stops, they both pause. When a vocal bridge arises, they each sing. Tunes such as "Little Lungs" and "Dressed Sharply" are models of catchy persuasion, with Cooper's guitar coughing up just enough fuzz tones to rough up any pretty spots. (BG)

1:33 p.m.:Typhoon barely squeezes all 12 band members onto the relatively small BMI stage. It’s a mini orchestra including string and horn sections and two drummers, and no instrument is superfluous in the expansive arrangements that ebb and flow in density and volume. The instrumentation colors in the pensive songs of singer-guitarist Kyle Morton, avoiding preciousness by touching on Caribbean and South American rhythms, lush harmony vocals and syncopated handclaps. (GK)

2:05 p.m.: Lollapalooza expanded its franchise to Santiago, Chile, earlier this year, and as part of the musical exchange a handful of native bands were booked for the North American counterpart. Among them is Chico Trujillo, who infuse traditional cumbia rhythms with punky energy. The octet doesn’t aspire to much more than uptempo party music, but on that count it succeeds completely. (GK)

2:20 p.m.: If there were a Lollapalooza dance-off, Friendly Fires singer Ed Macfarlane would surely be among the finalists. He’s got the slinky snake dance, plus variations on the boogaloo, the shake, the shimmy and the spazz-matazz (I made that last one up). He also plays a wicked cowbell solo, and enjoys wading into the crowd to connect with “the people.” The band writes big, arching melodies vaguely reminiscent of vintage U2 stadium-rock, merged with insistent dance-or-die rhythms. Everything about this band is designed to play to the back corners of an outdoor park, a trait shared by many of the U.K. bands at Lollapalooza. Like Muse and Coldplay, Friendly Fires knows its way around the European festival circuit and has been bred to entertain the multitudes. It’s all a bit cheesy, but in a big field on a summer day, it’s difficult to deny. (GK)

2:32 p.m.: The sun pokes through the clouds for the first time in more than an hour as Maps and Atlases treat songs as shapes meant to be twisted, tilted and turned. Having just returned from a long tour to their Chicago home base late Friday, the avant-pop band seems genuinely happy to be part of the fete. Singer-guitarist Dave Davison looks as if he's just emerged from a log cabin in the mountains, but the gruff appearance belies his gentle demeanor. He's the ringleader of a circus that concocts frisky, barely glued-together aural canvasses out of non-linear fragments, clattering effects and staggered spurts. When Maps and Atlases launches into a tune, "The Charm," that actually adheres to a recognizable structure, it's as surprising as the quartet's customary unconventional material. (BG)

2:49 p.m.: After more than three dozen people were sent to hospitals for a variety of concerns on Friday, all is primarily quiet at the main medical tent. Cloud cover is helping keep down the amount of heat-related problems. Yesterday, the various medical facilities remained constantly busy due to heat issues and foot injuries. The latter are so prominent that, for today and tomorrow, each tent is being staffed with two freshly hired podiatrists. Apparently, too many concertgoers are going barefoot and paying the price. Band-aids are in great demand. (BG)

3:13 p.m.: Making compelling mash-ups isn't as easy as it looks. In light of last night's Girl Talk concert, Super Mash Bros.' take on the electronic art falls short. Lacking continuity and flow, the L.A. trio's creations resemble stations being changed on a radio dial. Rather than recontextualize film dialogues, popular club hits and classic-rock riffs, the group's art simply co-opts them. A multimedia attempt at synching the sound with visuals doesn't fare much better. Among the three of them, the video game-loving geeks can't spell one Girl Talk. Another difference hamstrings the set: The now-open panels of the Perry's tent muddy the sonics and encourage some goofs in the audience to toss their beverage cans through the openings, where they descend and hit those closer to the stage in the head. (BG)

3:15 p.m.:Fitz and the Tantrums is a 3-year-old Los Angeles band, but the sound is rooted in Harlem’s Apollo Theatre, circa 1960. The old-soul revival shtick climaxes with singers Michael Fitzpatrick and Noelle Scaggs working themselves into a double-time frenzy, with Fitzpatrick collapsing on stage. Then, it’s time to fast-forward all the way into the ‘80s and a cover of Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).” Who needs the 21st Century when the 20th can still be so much fun? (GK)

3:40 p.m.: Lollapalooza promoters say 40 percent of the 270,000 fans who attend this weekend’s festival are coming from out of town. Rob Edmonson, 40, has been coming to Lollapalooza with his wife, Kim, from Toronto for the last four years. “It’s gotten bigger, eh?” he says as they watch Dom at the Google stage. But the couple still is enjoying themselves. “Lots of bands, lots of space, they need more room,” he says. “It’s great because you just walk around and you’re bound to hear something good.” (GK)

3:50 p.m.: Dom’s a tall, shambling figure with knack for writing catchy pop-rock melodies and oddball lyrics. “Burn bridges, make yourself an island,” he advises. A fan in the audience blows soap bubbles – an appropriate visual aid for music that revels in its own disposability. The scrappy, engaging set is punctuated by a faithful cover of the Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry” and closes – somewhat reluctantly, Dom says – of his tongue-in-cheek quasi-patriotic anthem “Living in America.” (GK)

3:57 p.m.: Been caught stealing. Six fence jumpers are nailed in the act near the Monroe entrance. Despite the presence of a security guard posted every 20 feet around the grounds' perimeter, and the fences, daredevils intent on getting into Lollapalooza gratis believe they can beat the system. On Friday, approximately two dozen high-school age students that rushed off of Lake Shore Drive found out that, after the infamous Rage Against the Machine gatecrashing incident, the no-tolerance policy has stiffened. (BG)

4:14 p.m.: "Was anybody there at the Empty Bottle six years ago? Does anybody know what the Empty Bottle is?," asks Death From Above 1979 drummer/screamer Sebastian Grainger, referring to the Chicago club. Yes, times have changed. DFA 1979, recently reunited after a five-year hiatus, realize the strange currencies involved with nostalgia and tastes. His duo stirs up the sort of terrorizing noise that would otherwise seem out of place at a huge festival, as the group's sonic collisions are better cut out for underground venues and basement parties. Yet here he and bassist Jesse Keeler are, entertaining tens of thousands of people as their hyperactive outbursts hint at everything from a procession of backfiring NASCAR race cars to sparking power lines to the deafening cacophony of a steel plant. Grainger doesn't sing; he yelps, howls, cries and shouts. After half an hour, the tandem's corrosive, gunk-coated blitzes start to overlap. Sensing that DFA 1979 is short on enough material to fill an hour-long set, Grainger gets wise, and breaks out into his best Brian Williams impression as he teases with a few refrains of AC/DC's "Thunderstruck." How about "Highway to Hell" as an encore? (BG)

4:30 p.m.: The classic Ennio Morricone theme from “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” that introduces “Medicine Show” – must be time for Big Audio Dynamite. On a day with a retrograde flavor at Lollapalooza, with ‘80s covers surfacing on every stage, here’s the genuine article. This was Mick Jones’ first band after he parted ways with the Clash, and its blend of funk, rock and electronic sampling still sounds fresh. Keyboardist Don Letts still sports dreadlocks that dangle to his hips, as if he hadn’t snipped them since the quintet’s heyday. Jones still cuts a dashing figure, his barbed guitar lines cutting through the dense dance rhythms. The band shows it’s serious about this comeback and not just collecting a nostalgia paycheck as it introduces a solid new song, “Rob Peter, Pay Paul.” As Jones says with a laugh, it’s “our global financial meltdown explained in 3½ minutes.” (GK)

5:10 p.m.: A boy who can't be more than 5 years old crowd surfs as Deftones vocalist Chino Moreno blares, "Guns! Razors! Knives!" at the top of his lungs. Moreno is nonplussed by the sight, and jumps off of any object within his reach, occasionally stretching his arms into the crowd from the safety of a ledge. He hops on and off a balance beam as the California quintet flushes out the tension ridden in grinding metal grooves and hazy, atmospheric soundscapes. For him, conscious-probing excursions such as "Diamond Eyes" equate to catharsis, and he plunges the microphone into his chest as if it were a sword and he were committing hara-kari. Deftones cause the ugly to become beautiful, at least for brief moments. Still, the group is victimized by inferior amplification that renders its disturbing squeals, low-end thunder and tortured releases in mono. (BG)

5:35 p.m.: Local Natives is one of the acts I was most anticipating at Lollapalooza, particularly after seeing their fantastic set last year at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park. The quintet’s lustrous harmonies and Afro-pop rhythms suggested a potentially star-making moment in prime time at Lolla. But on a beautiful late afternoon, the band sounds unusually languid. Even their sharp cover of Talking Heads’ jittery “Warning Sign” comes off flat. The group’s harmonies are still intact, but the bounce in their step is lacking. (GK)

6:21 p.m.: "Alright, thanks Bonnaroo...I mean Lollapalooza." That Spinal Tap moment comes courtesy of Gene Ween, who immediately recognizes his mistake. And no, the normally sarcastic guitarist/vocalist isn't kidding. Which only makes the innocent blunder doubly ironic, as his namesake band Ween prizes parodies of the rock-star lifestyle. There's a reason why the veteran group keeps its cult status. Ween runs through psychedelia, prog, R&B, dinosaur rock, country and calypso with arch humor and oddball eclecticism that contrast its serious musicianship. Whether intentional or not, "Bananas and Blow," with its "sitting in my cabana/living on bananas and blow" refrain, assumes extra comedic significance. VIPs watch the band from the comfort of elevated cabanas where catered food has just been served. With an exaggerated smile and faux sinister vocals, Gene passes as one of the campy arch villains from "Austin Powers." But don't underestimate his abilities. In full-on impersonation mode, he and the band nail a note-perfect rendition of David Bowie's "Let's Dance," missing not even the Thin White Duke's onstage moves. (BG)

6:45 p.m.: What a frustrating set. Cee Lo Green instantly makes a statement with a bizarre outfit – including spiked shoulder pads – that looks like it was lifted from an S&M shop. His all-female band resembles a coven of dominatrixes. “Don’t you dare let this wonderful outfit go to waste,” Cee Lo says. But it’s his strangely erratic performance that wastes the opportunity. Though the set has its moments – a romp through the Violent Femmes’ “Gone Daddy Gone,” the ebullient “Bright Lights, Big City” – it never sustains any momentum. Rather than letting his magnificent, gospel-fired voice carry the show, Green starts and stops songs, admonishes the audience for lacking enthusiasm, and comes off as a cranky, distracted presence. Talk about a waste – not just of a wonderful outfit but of a wonderful songbook. (GK)

7:35 p.m.: Swedish singer Lykke Li and her band are all in black, arrayed on stage as if in a particularly bleak Ingmar Bergman movie. But the music is not nearly so somber. Instead, it brings a Phil Spector-like grandeur to heartbreak, including a stunning cover of the old Drifters plea, “Please Stay.” Li sings with a wounded ache about the boyfriends who done her wrong, but then hammers away at a drum, ripping open the undercurrent of anger and violence in her songs. (GK)

7:49 p.m.:Enlist Atmosphere to teach a sign language class. The Minneapolis MC prompts the audience to use its fists as hammers, turn fingers into scissors, flash peace signs, collectively clap and yes, wave arms in the air. A great prelude to Eminem, the Minneapolis rapper dishes rhymes and narratives related to everyday events and normal people. Hangovers, girlfriends, abused partners and consequences of poor decisions litter his lyrical landscapes, which probe dark subconscious zones without ever exploding in anger. Instead, Atmosphere treats physical and emotional shrapnel as slow leaks, and applies a mellow salve in the form of positive sentiments and head-bobbing beats. As a survivalist, it's hard to take his claim that, after a night of hard partying, he almost called in sick to cancel with any seriousness. There's no way the savvy veteran would've missed a chance to win over new converts on a big stage. Backed by an edgy band, he doesn't let the opportunity go to waste. (BG)

9:52 p.m.: Surrounded on two sides by some of the city's finest skyscrapers, My Morning Jacket responds with dazzling architecture of its own. Sharp melodic figures dart through spacious openings, dual-guitar harmonies soar and percussive rejoinders crackle, functioning as punctuation marks on a wide-ranging two-hour set. His face obscured by his long hair, singer-guitarist Jim James leads the ragged glory, spinning around and sliding across the stage on his knees. James' wailing voice reflects normal wear from the road, but he hits falsetto highs without problem. My Morning Jacket balances massive firepower with blissful balladry, and toward the end, gets adventurous with simmering cosmic rock ("Dondante") and elongated electro-tinged soul (“Holdin' on to Black Metal"). Years of constant touring whipped this band into a force. It's the best of both worlds, a unit that can be as loose or as taut as it desires, and one that knows when to pull in the reins on extended jams. All that the Kentucky collective lacks tonight is a large crowd. Seldom has it been easier to get so close to a headliner. A majority of Lollapalooza patrons chose to see Eminem. (BG)

9:55 p.m.: Eminem rushes through a career’s worth of hits, usually truncating them as if in a race to fit as many as possible into a 90-minute set. Bruno Mars makes a quick cameo to sing the hook from the MC’s latest single, “Lighters,” and then exits, never to be seen again. It makes for a quick survey of past accomplishments rather than a truly engaging and engaged performance. The rapper born Marshall Mathers avoids some of the more starkly violent songs from earlier in his career, and instead focuses on his own struggles in recent tracks such as “Not Afraid” and “Love the Way You Lie.” He strives to portray himself as a more mature artist who has learned from his mistakes. In the most telling moment, he threatens to take a swig of vodka, only to spring several “leaks” from a rigged hoodie after he swallows. “Give my man a hand for staying sober this long,” says hype man Kon Artis. It’s not a moment played for laughs or dark humor; indeed, the set is strangely devoid of any levity at all as Eminem performs with a nearly joyless, workmanlike focus. “Can I take you back when I was (screwed up)?” Eminem says. Then he strings together snippets from songs such as “My Name Is,” “The Real Slim Shady” and “Without Me” that made him one of the most notorious figures in pop culture, and also one of the most popular. Now, post-rehab he has become just as successful, but you’re left wondering whether he’s enjoying it. (GK)